South Africa

The shower method

Sex and politics collide in a trial that has outraged many South Africans

THE first trial of Jacob Zuma, South Africa's former deputy president until he was sacked last June, is coming to an end. A 31-year-old HIV-positive woman accused him of raping her at his Johannesburg home, and a verdict on this charge is expected early next month. This is only the first hurdle he has to clear to be rehabilitated politically; he then faces another trial, for corruption, in July. But even if he is acquitted of those charges, he may already have done himself too much damage with his testimony in this first trial to ever make a comeback. Or at least, he should have done.

ReutersThe eager-to-please Mr Zuma

Mr Zuma's supporters have mounted a vigil in front of the court building for the duration of his trial, chanting for their champion and hurling verbal abuse at his accuser. His easy, back-slapping style, often contrasted with the more aloof manner of President Thabo Mbeki, has won him many backers. But the roots of his popularity go deeper than personality. In spite of the country's good macro-economic performance, unemployment and poverty remain widespread, and many people feel left behind by the government's economic policies. Some in the ruling African National Congress (ANC) party resent what they see as a centralisation of decision-making, while the party's trade-union and communist allies feel increasingly sidelined as well. Mr Zuma and his rural Zulu roots also appeal to traditional segments of society. These disparate groups have all pinned their hopes for a change of course on him.

Indeed, Mr Zuma's more ardent supporters claim that these court cases are just part of a complex political conspiracy to prevent him from succeeding Mr Mbeki, due to step down in 2009. Mr Zuma's defence team has tried to undermine the credibility of his accuser—who is alleged to have made false rape claims in the past—and he may well walk free. If he is also cleared of corruption in time for the ANC congress next year, then it remains possible that he could still gain support as the party's next presidential candidate.

That would be a mistake. Mr Zuma's performance in court so far raises fundamental questions about his suitability for further political office, let alone the presidency. He has admitted having unprotected sex with his accuser—although he maintains it was consensual—in spite of knowing she was HIV-positive. Though he once headed the country's official anti-AIDS campaign, he also explained that he took a shower immediately after sex to “minimise” the risk of infection.

AIDS activists argue that this sort of talk could seriously undermine efforts to contain the pandemic and to debunk the many myths surrounding the disease. South Africa has one of the highest HIV-infection rates in the world. HIV/AIDS help-lines now have to explain to confused callers that showering is not the preferred way to avoid catching the disease.

Mr Zuma's trial has also highlighted the fragility of women's rights in a country with one of the highest incidences of rape in the world. Some of his followers have supported him with such felicitous slogans as “burn the bitch”. This has provoked outrage from women's groups—but not a peep from Mr Zuma himself.

The former deputy president, who testified in Zulu, maintains that his accuser seduced him, pointing out that she came to his house wearing a skirt. According to his Zulu culture, he claims, leaving a woman in a state of sexual arousal is unacceptable, and he had to oblige. All this flies brazenly in the face of South Africa's carefully nurtured official policy on women's rights, reflected in the constitution and—officially—promoted assiduously by the ANC.

South Africa needs political leaders capable of tackling the double scourge of HIV/AIDS and violence against women, which have blighted its post-apartheid renaissance. Mr Zuma may survive his days in court, but has surely proved in the course of his own defence that he is not and cannot become one of them.